


honey, you're familiar

by tachycardia



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tachycardia/pseuds/tachycardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's December, two years after the end of One Direction, and Zayn moves into Liam's neighbourhood. Secret-dating, post-band fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honey, you're familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how this happened. I hadn't written fic in six years, and then my friend talked to me about Chandler/Monica and secret relationships, and I ended up writing most of this in three days. 
> 
> This reads a little bit like a love letter to my favourite romance tropes - no drama, future fic - something built on years of knowing each other, keeping things a secret for no reason except that it's really nobody's business, and lots of nothing, lots of adoring each other - hence its self-indulgence. I hope you like it, though.
> 
> Thank you so much to Nav / protectzaynmalik on tumblr, who is absolutely the right person to talk to when you're considering posting a fic and still trying to find the pieces to make it a little bit more whole - she's magic.
> 
>  
> 
> _honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago_

When Zayn gets to the private room at the pub Niall keeps for special occasions, the others are already there. There are five drinks out, four of them half-drunk and leaving pools of condensation on the table. The fifth still looks cool, just a little misted over, like it’s just been brought out.

Niall is grinning knowingly at him as he sits down, and he nudges him with his knee. “How was traffic,” he says.

Zayn just smiles back at him, unrepentant as he relaxes and falls back into his chair. Harry pushes a muffin across the table, his disapproving headshake totally ruined by the smile on his face. 

“If you’d answered my call instead of sleeping through it,” Louis says, “I would’ve picked you up and you’d be here on time.” He still reaches forward to clink his bottle against Zayn’s, though.

“My phone was on silent!” Zayn protests. “And it’s barely past one!” 

“It’s one-thirty,” Liam says.

“You live right by him, Liam,” Louis accuses. “You couldn’t have tried? Am I the only responsible one left, popstar?”

Liam shrugs, and Zayn ignores the impulse to look at him, even as Liam leans in closer to him, his hand brushing slowly across Zayn’s hip: exactly where he’d been sucking a mark earlier that morning when they heard Zayn’s phone ringing in the living room. Liam leaves his thumb there now, rubbing it against him. Zayn drinks a mouthful of his beer.

-

Liam offers to drop Zayn off when they’re done at six. They pay their dues - hugs, splitting off to see when two of them can meet next, are any of them in the same city any time soon. Harry reminds them about the holiday party he’s having the next evening. Liam reminds them about the shows he’ll be having around the British Isles in February.

They get in the car. They don’t touch.

At a traffic light two roads away, Liam leans over and kisses Zayn on the shoulder. Zayn leans into it automatically, feeling a small part of him finally relax.

“Think we pulled it off?” Liam asks. 

There had been a second when Louis’d mentioned how much more Liam had been writing lately and their eyes had met, and Zayn had had to force himself to look away. They’d both been sent into the kitchen to rummage the massive industrial refrigerator for leftovers and they hadn’t done anything, but it’d been very hard not to. They’d kept their thighs pressed together for most of the afternoon. Other than that, though -

“Yes,” Zayn says, and nudges him when the light turns green. Liam sits back and Zayn brings his hand to Liam’s knee, careful of the bruise from where Zayn had yanked him into the wall two days ago (Liam had yelped in surprise, and they’d both started laughing mid-kiss). “Home?”

“I left my laptop charger at my place,” Liam says, “But after that, yeah. Home.”

-

Louis insists on still calling them band meetings, though they haven’t been a band for at least three years. The last one was five months ago, which means it’s the first time that they’ve all been in the same room since Zayn and Liam started...doing what they’re doing. Zayn thinks they fare pretty well, but he’s been thinking -

The great thing about them now is that it doesn’t feel like there’s much to hide. It doesn’t feel much like anything’s changed. Zayn’s dropped by Niall’s pub to pick up food for both him and Liam before, and that’s never raised eyebrows. Harry has dropped by Zayn’s place while Liam was there with him. _Liam’s mother_ has dropped by Zayn’s place while Liam was there with him. No one asks, no one seems to think anything’s out of place.

It’s okay for a while, because it makes it easy. It’s nice to have all the nice things you get from being with someone without the tension, the interrogation.

The only thing is. Zayn is starting to realise they’re going to have to tell some people. He’s starting to realise he wants to. He likes kissing Liam too much - he doesn’t want to not do it. He’s kind of anticipating squabbling over whose house to sell when they decide to move in together (Zayn’s going to win). He’s absolutely certain that it’s only a matter of time before people they know put it together, because it’s only a matter of time before he gives it away.

Zayn wondered, at first, if Liam's having the same problem as him, but - He’d had spent three weeks on a small tour around Europe recently, his first solo tour outside of the UK. They hadn’t talked much, because Zayn is still abysmal at phone conversation. Liam had come back looking tired, but it took him less than a day at home with Zayn to lose the slightly pinched look in his face, even though he’d mostly just slept in Zayn’s bed, more often than not with his head in Zayn’s lap. Zayn’s _noticed_. He’s not wondering so much anymore.

He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone for two reasons: being famous had been draining, and it honestly hadn’t been anyone’s business. But the first feels distinctly manageable the more that Zayn thinks about it, and the second feels - unimportant.

The real problem now, honestly, is that nothing about what they’re doing now feels anything like a problem.

-

Harry is a force when he’s hosting a crowd, and when he’s on a mission he’s something to see. Zayn has always been a little bit in awe of him, and watching him tonight would have been a priority of his. Only Liam is in a suit.

It’s fairly late into the night when Zayn finally manages to pull Liam away. They find an unused function room by the hotel ballroom, and they kiss as soon as the door is closed, pressing into each other.

It eases off quickly, though. Liam hits the nearest switch as they pull away. In the dim lighting, Zayn picks out the shadow of Liam’s smile, warm enough that he feels it stick to him. His tie looks fine, but Zayn picks at it, unknots it. He kisses the part of Liam’s neck that the shirt falls loose from.

“You look,” Zayn says, and doesn’t bother continuing, kissing Liam on the mouth again. “Just.”

“Yeah?” Liam says softly, looking a little smug. “Gone speechless, English major?”

Liam moves in to kiss him but Zayn pulls back, frowning at him. “You making fun of me?”

Zayn slides his hands under Liam’s suit jacket and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. He moves in again and Liam grins at him, right until Zayn bypasses his mouth for the side of his neck. Liam’s jaw drops just a bit, leaning into it. One of his hands comes up to the back of Zayn’s head.

“Not my fault when you - “ Zayn is starting to say when the door clicks open.

They jump apart just as Harry peeks in.

“There you are,” Harry says, voice jarringly loud.

Zayn turns to beam at him, hoping he doesn’t look crazed. The way Liam’s looking at him he probably does, but Liam’s in no position to judge with his shirt still crumpled and his tie untied.

“Liam’s too drunk to retie his tie,” Zayn explains quickly. Liam shoots him a look.

Harry smiles, and shuffles into the room. “Oh, me too! Do me?”

Zayn hears a familiar muffled laugh from beside him as he steps forward. “Sure, man.” He pulls at the now-messy knot on Harry’s tie, breathing out slowly, focusing. When he finally looks up, pressing the tie down, Liam’s left the room.

Harry is still smiling at him, and Zayn smiles back, still feeling a little knocked off-center. If Harry knew, Zayn thinks - he would tease them, and Liam wouldn’t have to leave, and all three of them could go on their way. If more people knew, they could check back in with each other at the end of the night, outside where everyone could see, and leave together. They wouldn’t need to sneak into a room just to kiss, just to give the hello-how-are-you kind of kiss that he’d wanted to give Liam all night.

Harry must notice something close in him. “Okay to head back in?” he asks.

“Not yet,” Zayn says. A sudden fierce gladness rushes through him for his friend, this friend who still knows him. “Stick with me a couple of minutes?”

Harry doesn’t even reply, just pulls out a chair from the nearest table and kicks back, like he doesn’t owe hosting duties to a hundred people a room away. “On your go,” he says.

Harry would probably be happy to know he’s happy, Zayn thinks.

By the time he’s ready to go back, he knows he has to talk to Liam.

-

Waking up when Liam is around has always been easy, but these days it’s better. Liam now accompanies his touches with a kiss on the neck, a bite of his ear. Instead of blinking awake to see Liam fully clothed, rearing to go on a run or for breakfast, he’s usually in just his pants, under the bedclothes, writing in his notebook.

Today’s no different: Zayn wakes up when he feels a kiss against his temple. He leaves his eyes closed and turns his face to the side, where he knows Liam’s sitting up against the headboard. He nuzzles into Liam’s hip, humming.

“Morning, babe,” Liam says, his hand coming down to scratch the back of Zayn’s head.

“Mmm,” Zayn says, warming up to speaking, like he always has to. Liam will understand.

“Almost 10.”

“Mm?” he replies.

“My interview this afternoon was cancelled.”

Zayn finally opens his eyes, twisting to look up at him. “Staying here?”

“Of course. Make me lunch?”

“‘Course.”

He does make lunch, somehow, between kisses against the fridge. They eat it mostly in silence, until Zayn insists on a foot massage for the work he’s done, putting his feet in Liam’s lap. Liam loads the dishwasher and digs into the jar of the cookies Zayn keeps hidden from his sister’s kids.

The afternoon is spent in their favourite room on the second floor, where Zayn gets the best light, and where he’d set up an old keyboard that Liam’s commandeered. Liam runs on the treadmill, taking calls for work, as Zayn finishes a course reading.

As soon as he puts the papers aside Liam switches the machine off and tackles him, and they kiss, right on the floor. It segues into making out, grinding against each other, when Zayn slips his hand down Liam’s back and under his shorts.

They take a shower, an actual one with no more than a few lazy kisses, and make toasties for dinner.

-

That night Zayn watches Liam put his notebook and pen back on the sidetable for easy access in the morning. When Liam settles into place next to him Zayn lifts himself over and straddles him across his hips. He puts his hands on Liam’s shoulders, and Liam is smiling, all warm, crinkle-eyed affection, as he supports Zayn with the flats of his palms against his back.

It’s that smile and that easy, unselfconscious touch that make Zayn say, “Lunch on Saturday with the boys was shit. We shouldn’t do that again.”

Liam takes it in his stride, like he’d expected Zayn to sit on him and get serious about their relationship. “Okay. What are you thinking?”

Zayn takes a second, lets the words figure themselves out, slow in his mouth. “I’m worried,” he says finally, “that we don’t really talk about this, what we’re doing. And I think we’re on the same page. But I want to know.”

Liam’s thumbs are moving in circles, a little distracting, but somehow putting this - them - into better focus.

“I just want to - keep kissing you?”

Liam’s thumbs don’t stop moving.

“I want to take you home and tell my cousin to stop crushing on my boyfriend,” Zayn continues, looking away from him. “And I know you like going out for dinner, maybe we can do that. Someday. And the next time Preston tries to set me up with someone I can tell him why instead of avoiding it. And your mum and I can - ”

“Are you asking me if I wanna go steady?” Liam says. 

“ _Liam_.” Zayn punches his shoulder, and Liam doesn’t even pretend to be in pain. What a dick.

“Everything you said, Zayn,” Liam says with a laugh. “Me too. Yes.”

“Okay, good,” Zayn says, his breath rushing out of him in relief. “Good.”

“So we can tell our families. I’ll go to your parents’ with you.”

“Okay,” Zayn says, leaning forward, adjusting his seat.

“And the next time we meet the boys,” Liam offers helpfully, “Just kiss me whenever you want, see how long it takes them to get it.”

“And everyone else?”

“Everyone else,” Liam echoes. “Like what, the public and that?”

Zayn shrugs.

“I don’t think anyone will care, at this point.” Liam reaches up to scratch his nose, deep in thought. “I’m doing well but my audience is mostly our age. And it’s not like I’m 1D-famous.”

Something about the idea of going back where he’ll be looked at and assessed and found lacking doesn’t seem attractive to Zayn at all, still. Just thinking about the stories he’ll be a part of again is unsettling.

But Liam’s right - they’re nowhere near as important as they’d been in the band. Zayn’s not going to have to do the same things, or interact with the same number of people, or be as central an attraction. And he knows: working on his music is important to Liam, and Liam is important to him. And getting space of his own is important to Zayn, and Zayn knows he’s important to Liam.

They can work it out. They both want to, and they’ll manage.

“I guess we’ll figure something out,” Zayn says. Everything looks a little less insurmountable under Liam’s smile. “Not yet, though.”

“I agree.” Liam scans his face. “And we’re serious.”

“I agree,” Zayn confirms, and he smiles.

“Settled?” Liam looks satisfied at Zayn’s nod. “Is that what you were brooding about all day?”

“Shut up.” Zayn hopes he looks unimpressed, but he’s feeling a little too happy to pull off anything else at all. “Didn’t we say something about kissing?”

“You’re right,” Liam says, using his hold on Zayn’s waist to tug him down. He kisses his cheek, the corner of his eye, the cut of his jaw. “I’m glad we talked about this.”

Zayn’s glad, too. He nudges Liam’s face with his nose to get him back to facing him, and kisses him full on the mouth to show his agreement.

 

* * *

 

This is how it starts to start: 

It’s December, two years after the end of One Direction, and Zayn’s halfway through getting the English degree he’d wanted (though he’s doing it online, now, something he hadn’t had to consider back then). He feels like he’s finally mostly come back to himself, less like the distant, tired version of him he’d become, but he also still feels a little unsettled. He’s living in the house he used to share with someone he’d thought he was going to marry. It’s too big, and too empty, and he likes the quiet only until he gets too into his head.

He still keeps in touch with his old bandmates, even if it’s nowhere near as much as before. Niall and him probably talk the most - both of them used to solve word puzzles during necessary early mornings in tour buses or planes, and even now when Niall starts on a trip, the first thing he does is photograph the crossword in whatever newspaper he’s holding so both of them can work them out together. Harry sends him photos of anything that makes him think of him, and he doesn’t care if Zayn replies, but Harry’s delight when he does is what makes Zayn try, when he can, to do the same. Louis calls, every few weeks; if he doesn’t get to him by the middle of the month, Zayn calls him.

Liam and him talk less, but it’s easiest to be honest with him, as it’s always been; in this month’s e-mail Zayn mentions all of this, the discomfort and weird unease. The last time he’d emailed, Liam had been putting aside his music production to work on music he’s excited to use for himself, and he’d been spending a lot of time in a house he loves, in a neighbourhood he loves. When he replies he tells Zayn about the house that he’d seen going on sale, a couple of roads down from his place, even further away from the main traffic and city area. _Big yard_ , he writes, _and no metal door, but the wooden one’s still pretty massive._

So Zayn moves in, and Liam invites him over for lunch. Music producer currently-famous Liam has more paparazzi in his backyard than recluse home student ex-famous Zayn, and the difference only gets emphasised when it leaks that Liam’s working on an album of his own, so Zayn invites him to his place, next time.

When they meet the month after, Zayn pops in a movie on his DVD player preemptively, the way he’s always done when he has guests in case they need something to fill in awkward silences. The TV’s untouched, though, as they talk that day. They lose track of time, only realising they need dinner when Zayn gets up to get drinks and accidentally looks at the clock, and they choose a take-out place from the list Liam’s got on his phone. They fall asleep each lying on a couch, their heads tilted towards each other. 

-

They meet every other week, then every week, then every other day. Liam finally teaches Zayn how to swim. Zayn invites him to his sister’s birthday party at his parents’ place. Liam asks him for his opinion on the armchair he wants to buy, the suit he wants to wear. They start to seek each other out, the way they used to, back when they’d been two of five people in the world who’d been living through the same thing.

It’s so easy to think of him. It’s so easy to talk to him. Zayn goes to Italy with friends one weekend and keeps sending Liam photos because he’s thinking, the whole time, _I wish he were here_ , or _He would’ve found that so funny_ , the way he used to when he’d been 17 and had just found someone quiet and nerdy and into the kind of music he loved, someone he’d thought was just like him. It’s the same thing now, but amplified - this feels so much more deliberate, so much less about chance. This happens now, they’re talking now, because of the things they have in common, and because of the things about each other that they like.

It feels a little different now, too, but Zayn thinks one part of it is that they’re not really doing the same thing anymore, because they’re not with the same people, because they’re doing it in their own spaces instead of spaces they were pushed into. The other part is - giving up two couches to fall asleep on just one. Moving out of the deepest part of the swimming pool to the shallowest and still holding hands. Still trying to write monthly e-mails but realising everything he thinks is worth mentioning, Liam already knows.

There’s something more than that at work here, too, Zayn knows. He’ll figure that out when he needs to. 

-

One day in March, Zayn finds one of Liam’s t-shirts in his laundry. Something in his stomach flips.

-

Maybe this is how it starts:

It’s late July, and Zayn’s sister insists that he dance at her wedding, and Zayn agrees on the condition that he’s allowed to dance with whoever he wants.

Liam and him devised, years ago, a way for them to look like they’re dancing but for Liam to actually be doing most of the heavy lifting. They’re still good at it now, picking up where they left off - only Zayn’s leaning a little more into him than he usually would, a little less careful about the way he touches him as he complains about his younger sister getting married before him. He looks up after he says it, hoping for commiseration, but Liam is just watching him, eyes steady, hand tightening against Zayn’s back. Maybe they lean a little closer for the next two songs instead of moving back. Maybe the way the back of Liam’s neck feels under Zayn’s hand feels familiar, but also more weighted, more knowing; maybe they feel something shift a little into place.

Maybe Liam found something of Zayn’s in his own washing. Maybe he’d felt the same thing.

His sister cuts in to cart Liam away for her own dance, and Zayn thinks, watching Liam gamely sweep her across the room, that maybe Liam’s watching him right back, too.

-

Actually it starts like this, because nothing else happened that day they danced:

It’s mid-August, and Liam’s thrown a birthday party at his house. It’s a little businessy, a little upscale; not many of his friends are there, none of his family. The other boys are out of town, and they’ll come by for the smaller dinner Liam will have closer to the date, but all Zayn has is free time, and he’s a ten-minute stroll away. So he comes by, hangs about for a couple of hours, and then goes upstairs to hide.

It’s a lovely house, but Zayn loves Liam’s bedroom the most: cool and beautiful and comfortable, but quiet and private. It’s all French windows facing the gorgeous neighbouring garden. It’s home to the ridiculously soft armchair he’d told Liam to buy, hidden behind the massive bookshelf filled with books that Zayn brings over and forgets to take home. He folds himself into the chair and gets pulled back into a book fairly quickly.

It’s late when Liam finally comes in and sits heavily on the edge of the bed.

“Beginning to think you had the right idea skipping all those club nights,” Liam says, smiling tiredly.

Zayn smiles back at him sympathetically. “Mingling over?”

“Just walked out the last of them.” Liam leans back so he’s lying on the mattress, his feet still on the ground. “The Williams. The Williams-es. They were looking for you, by the way. Something about work for the charity.”

“I’ll give them a call,” Zayn says, straightening in interest.

“I gave her your number,” Liam promises. “Finished your book?”

“Almost,” Zayn says, but he closes the book and leaves it on his chair as he goes to sit and lean back next to Liam.

Liam’s still smiling as he turns over to look at him, but he breathes out slowly, and he looks a little less stressed, a little more loose and happy.

“I accidentally broke that chair last weekend,” Liam says.

Zayn sits up. “What?" 

“Broke one of the legs,” Liam continues, sheepish now. “Got it fixed, though. Even you couldn’t tell.”

From his place on the bed he can see that the colour of the wood on one of the chair legs doesn’t match the rest, but that’s about it, so he flops back down, shaking his head. “Nah, I really couldn’t.”

“Had to do it right,” Liam says. “It’s more yours than mine at this point.”

“Should be in my place, then, shouldn’t it,” Zayn teases, reaching over so his hand touches Liam’s.

Liam presses his hand back into his, shrugging. “I just like having you here.”

Zayn turns his head to look at Liam again, moving his hand so it rests on Liam’s. He squeezes it lightly.

“Thank you for being here,” Liam says after a beat. “I know this was never your kind of thing.”

“I like being here, too, Liam,” Zayn says, looking at the ceiling. “With you. These last few months have been really nice. Really nice.”

They don’t say anything for a while. Zayn lets what he said sit, lets it sink in.

“You know, like. I thought that we’d probably drift apart, once we were done. There was no reason to stay in touch?” He closes his eyes again when he hears Liam nod, head shifting against the comforter. “I’ve just been thinking about it lately. It’s cool that we’re doing this again.”

“Isn’t it?” Liam says. “Thank you for getting a house in walking distance.”

“Thanks for telling me to buy it,” Zayn says, on the edge of laughing at them. And then he can feel them stall, not moving forward, as they fall quiet again.

He sighs noisily, nervous and impatient. All he wants to do is yank Liam into him and see where this goes, he wants to do it _right now_. He looks at Liam, who’s rolling onto his side, already watching him consideringly. Liam looks down at his mouth and looks back up again.

It feels like something is stretching, snapping into place between them; months of castaway moments finally pressing them together.

“Come _on_ , Liam,” Zayn says, voice low. Liam starts, blinks, and then he grins brightly.

Zayn can feel Liam breathing, shifting properly into his space, moving in. Liam moves his free arm across his body so he’s leaning right on top of him, and they draw even closer, Zayn craning up just enough - 

“Liam?”

They both tense at the call from downstairs, and then loosen, resigned.

“Be right down,” Liam yells.

Zayn falls back against the bed with a sigh, and Liam drops his head beside him, nose touching Zayn’s cheek. He stays there for a second, and then he pushes himself up and leaves. Zayn hears him go down the stairs, and he stays where he is.

He wants this, and he knows Liam wants this, and he doesn’t think this is a bad idea. He wants to know the heat of Liam’s mouth, the press of his hand; the feel of his smile against his, the weight of his body against his. He likes him, he trusts him, and he wants him.

He stays where he is, and he keeps thinking this, the certain knowledge of it thrumming in him - he wants this, Liam wants this - until he hears Liam running back up the steps, stray party-goer attended to. He stays where he is, so he’s watching Liam as he stalks back into view, not losing speed as he gets closer to the bed.

When he’s close enough, Zayn reaches for his shirt and pulls him in.

They’d really kissed once, almost ten years ago. Despite being an accident it had gone on for a bit, but when they were done they’d smiled at each other, left it as it was, totally forgotten: a good, comforting snog between two people who were very fond of each other.

Zayn knows right away that this one is going to be difficult to forget. Zayn meets his kiss with a little too much purpose. They both respond a little too quickly, confidently. They both moan a little too loud.

Liam lifts himself over Zayn and they press together, sinking into the mattress. Zayn knows exactly where to press into Liam’s back so that he gasps and opens his mouth to let the kiss deepen. When they pull apart he instinctively tilts his head so Liam can get to his shoulder. Zayn gets his feet on the mattress so he can launch himself up and get both of them lying out fully on the bed.

When his hand brushes against the sliver of skin under Liam’s t-shirt they hiss in unison. Their eyes meet, and then they start laughing, intensity broken, but intention still there.

Zayn moves to touch the side of Liam’s face, the edge of his thumb pressing gently at the folds by the corner of his eye. “Yeah?” he says, just to check.

“ _Yes_ ,” Liam says, and kisses him again.

-

This is how they start:

He wakes up the next morning that August, and Liam’s sitting next to him, back against the headboard, with a notebook on his lap. Liam’s hand is resting against the back of Zayn’s neck, stroking the side.

Zayn looks up at him and smiles, and Liam smiles back, and Zayn feels a slow, rising content, the rare, distinct feeling of knowing he’s exactly where he wants to be, with someone who knows the same.

He wants this, Liam wants this.

“Do I need to keep asking you to kiss me or what?” Zayn says, shifting so his back is flat against the bed.

“Morning breath,” Liam explains. It’s unconvincing: he drops the notebook with uncharacteristic carelessness. And when he leans down to kiss him, he doesn’t pull away for a while.

 

* * *

 

They still have days off to themselves, but they also sometimes spend three days together where neither of them leave the house. Zayn likes it best when Liam comes back after a few days or weeks away, comes back straight to Zayn: uses his spare key, his combination on the security system, pushes his suitcases into the hollow underneath the stairs, slips right back into bed. 

They’d spent time together for years, and having someone around during such an important part of your life sticks with you. He still remembers the sound of Liam’s voice in the background while they’re both getting their own things done. He remembers how it feels to know when Liam’s in a room, to anticipate the casual arm around his shoulder, around his waist. He remembers sharing earphones, running with their dogs, speeding through seasons of reality TV both half-asleep yet fully dramatically engaged.

What slots in with that now is the sense memory of a relationship. He’s gotten used to getting passing kisses on the cheek when one of them is on the phone, and he’s gotten used to Liam’s head against his shoulder, his mouth against his neck. Getting distracted by an unintentional glimpse of skin, sex against the door upon getting home after a day out.

And wanting to keep kissing him.

-

They visit Zayn’s parents one weekend, and Liam’s the next. All of them are surprised, they don’t try to hide that, but of course they’re surprised - Zayn and Liam still are, and they were there to see it happen.

Zayn’s mother searches Zayn over - she’s checking on him first, he knows, before she gives him any kind of approval - and then kisses his forehead. His father pulls him aside before they leave that night, thumps him on his shoulder, and says Liam was “the only one of you that had any sense”. At Zayn’s offended squawk, he adds, “You’re right, Niall too.” And then he beams at him, and smacks his back to send him on his way.

Liam’s mother hugs him tight and then sits him down to discuss his uni classes, casual as anything. When she gets up to get some biscuits, Zayn looks up, and Liam meets his eyes from the entrance of the room. He’s smiling as he comes to sit down next to him and kiss him on the cheek. “You were always her favourite,” Liam says, shaking his head. They’re kissing when they hear her walking back in, and Zayn thrills in how they don’t have to jump back, how they don’t have to let go of each other’s hands.

-

People are still milling about outside the concert hall when Zayn arrives, so he slips in at the reserved seats in front without attracting any attention. His date for the evening’s already arrived, coolly scrolling through messages on his phone.

“Hello, businessman,” Zayn says, dropping into the seat next to Niall. He flicks the side of Niall’s sunglasses, and Niall flicks Zayn’s waist in retaliation.

“Civilian,” Niall says, pulling his sunglasses off and smiling at him.

They share a lazy side-hug, neither of them willing to get up again, and leave their arms around each other as they lean back in their seats. Zayn reaches over Niall to get the drink he has on his other side - Niall always gets ginger ale, which only the two of them love.

“How was France?” Niall asks. Zayn looks at him in confusion - he’d gone alone with Liam last weekend, and neither of them had told anyone.

Niall shakes his phone. “The crossword you sent was next to an ad in French.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows at him, impressed. “It was good. Cold,” he says, thinking about how close they’d had to huddle together the few times they’d stepped out of the room. “But chill. We really liked the wine.”

“Cold but chill,” Niall repeats, smile widening. “You going to tell me who you were with?”

Later, Zayn thinks. “Soon,” he says, squeezing Niall’s shoulder.

Niall accepts it easily, squeezing him right back. “Did you solve 9-down in the end?”

“Had to google it,” Zayn says. “I gave up.”

They work through the rest of the crossword, right until the lights dim and Liam jogs out onstage.

-

Close to the end of the show, Liam brings out a barstool from backstage. Someone hands him a guitar.

“I’ve not got the chance to practice this one much, it’s not one of my own, but I felt like singing something special for you guys tonight, if that’s okay.”

The crowd cheers and, bolstered, Liam goes on, “I’ve had a break for a while and I’ve been spending a lot of that time with people I love, and it’s been really nice.” He pauses, then ducks his head for a second, thoughtful. “I was going to say that I sometimes forget how nice it is to do nothing with someone, but the thing is. I feel like. It’s been years, and there’s still really only one person I’ve ever been able to do nothing with.”

He nods, certain. “It’s really, really nice,” he repeats.

 _Really nice_ , Zayn thinks, and it clicks. 

Liam smiles out into the crowd, totally calm, totally in his space. He strums once to find the chord, and starts to sing Rihanna’s “Only Girl in the World”.

It’s not some grand romantic gesture: Liam’s always liked putting things he loves into music he creates, and Zayn knows very well that the lyrics Liam’s shown him lately fall to present tense, floating on current, knowing affection. He recognises inspiration.

There’s something about this, though, this ridiculous, goofy cover, that feels declarative and sure, and it tugs at him, making him steadily giddier. He’s suddenly aware of the heat that floods his face, the way his mouth stretches into a smile. He’s grateful that Niall’s attention is on the stage, because if he were looking at him now he would know. He would put it together.

Zayn tries to rein himself in and resorts to sitting on his hands.

When Liam’s done, he thanks Matt the guitarist for lending him his guitar. Matt goes back to his own microphone, pulling the guitar strap back over his head. “We had to talk him off massacring a French song tonight, ladies and gentlemen,” Matt says. “You’re welcome.”

“Dedicated to spontaneous weekends away in the middle of winter,” Liam announces, and then he adds, a little less showboat-y, “I recommend it. France was beautiful.”

“And you liked the wine,” Matt reminds him.

Liam raises his hand. “Yes! The wine! So good.”

Beside Zayn, Niall startles, making the noise he makes right before he has an answer to a crossword clue. “Zayn,” he says, consideringly, and turns to look at him.

Zayn hasn’t stopped smiling, so if Niall's looking at him, it's all the confirmation he'll need. He buries his face in his hands, wishing very hard that he could faint at will. “Don’t.” 

“Zaynie.” Niall waits.

“Please don’t,” Zayn repeats. He lifts his head just enough to see Liam again, but he can feel Niall’s accusing gaze on him.

“We just discussed telling people,” he says, his face only reddening further. “I meant like, talking to you guys, not. Not - ”

“ - dedicating songs to you in front of thousands of people,” Niall finishes for him. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Zayn stares steadfastly ahead, not wanting to acknowledge him.

“Well,” Niall says, and goes back to looking at Liam.

-

As they wait in Liam’s room backstage, Niall is quiet, just letting him be. When Zayn finally looks up, though, he’s smiling at him, eyes soft with affection.

“How long?”

“Uh, six months, I think, after France,” Zayn says. He looks down again, his thumb rubbing at the wood grain on the desk in the room. “But like. Also longer than that?”

Niall hums in acknowledgment just as Liam walks in, his suit jacket off and his tie loosened. Niall hugs him immediately, slapping him on the back. “You’re a star, mate,” Niall says, kissing him on the cheek.

Liam beams at him. He turns to face Zayn, who’s already looking at him. He manages to match Liam’s ridiculous smile, coming up close to him and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“I loved it,” Zayn says.

Liam hugs him back and sighs, deep and content. They sway a little from side to side, and then break apart.

“Well?” Niall says expectantly.

Zayn grins at him, for the challenge of his question, and steps back into Liam’s space to kiss him soundly. Liam’s response is automatic, at this point, he doesn’t hesitate; Zayn feels his hands against the back of his neck, the side of his waist. Zayn tugs against the first two buttons on Liam’s shirt and rests his hand directly on skin, fingers tapping the firm muscle connecting his neck to his shoulder.

When they pull apart again, Liam is smiling. “So Niall knows."

“France,” Zayn says, “France gave it away.”

“Zayn gave it away,” Niall says, swinging right into it despite the traces of surprise still on his face. “He looked like he was going to cry, Payno.”

“Niall. I was going to invite you home for drinks!” Zayn says, trying to look aghast at Niall’s betrayal. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Liam starting to smile his wide, sappy, happy smile, and he automatically turns his head just enough to see it in full. He knows he’s smiling just as dopily right back.

Liam blinks out of it, but his cheeks are a little pink as he reaches for his phone. “I want photos,” he says, tugging Zayn closer with the arm still around his waist.

They take two, Liam’s other arm holding his phone, and then pull in Niall, who’s still watching them closely, for a few more. Liam chooses one of the last photos to post on Twitter, and sets one of the first as his phone’s lockscreen.

Zayn squeezes Liam’s hand briefly, kisses him on the side of his neck, and lets go to drag Niall out the door.

They go back to Zayn’s anyway, of course. Zayn watches Niall take in the rack of shoes Liam puts his sneakers away on, the watch Liam slips off and leaves in the box on the coffee table, and the container of leftover spaghetti Liam pulls out of the fridge and eats straight out of.

Niall turns away and meets Zayn’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “Just six months?”

Zayn holds his hand up, flat, and waggles it a little. “Ish.”

Niall shifts close to him and kisses him on the cheek, too. "Good," he says, "This is good," and he follows Liam into the kitchen.

-

Louis ends up on his doorstep at 9 in the morning within a week, and he looks genuinely surprised to see Zayn awake and mostly good-humoured.

"I knew there was something," Louis says, pushing past him. "Who’s here with you?"

"Morning, Lou," Zayn says. He's thinking, should he tell him now, or will he know when Liam comes back down? if he doesn’t tell him maybe he won’t guess, maybe he’ll think it’s normal -

Liam makes the decision for him.

“Sweetheart,” Liam calls from the other room, “Stop leaving your books on the tub.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at Zayn.

“Louis is here,” Zayn yells back, “Don’t make me do this alone again.”

“One of these days your dog is going to knock something in,“ Liam says, walking in.

“ _My_ dog knows better.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “ _Your_ dog - “

“Christ,” Louis says, and he starts to cackle. “When was the wedding?”

It’s a joke, Zayn knows, but it’s the perfect set-up. He waves Liam over, who comes across the room and leans over the back of the couch. Zayn tilts his head to the side and kisses him briefly, just enough to get the point across. When he moves to pull away, Liam brings his hand up to Zayn’s cheek, keeping him there for a little longer.

Zayn loses himself in the kiss, a bit, and it takes him a while to open his eyes again after Liam pulls away, feeling loose and warm. Liam is looking at Louis, who hasn’t said a thing.

Zayn looks over too, and Louis blinks at him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, and then, “Does Niall know?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, eyebrows furrowing. “He met us after Liam’s concert on Friday.”

Louis is taking out his phone. “I told him last night, I bet you had a new girl in your life, and he said _I’ll take that bet_ , smiling all smug - “

-

Liam begs off for his afternoon run later that day, and Zayn ropes Louis in to pull out and fold the clothes from the dryer. Finding too-big shirts and dumb-looking shorts still makes his stomach a little flippy, despite the increasing occurrence of it; it’s nice to know there’s a good reason for it now.

“Has this been happening for years or have I been thick?” Louis asks after a while.

Zayn can tell he’s been thinking about this for the last few hours. “It just happened,” he says simply, the same thing he told Niall. “There was no - we haven’t been in love and depressed from the beginning, or anything.”

“Happened out of nowhere, then,” Louis says sceptically.

“Yes,” Zayn says, then, “No.” ‘This is why we didn’t want to tell you,’ Zayn wants to say.

“It just makes sense, the both of you,” Louis confesses, shrugging. “Can’t believe I didn’t realise.”

“ _I_ didn’t realise,” Zayn points out. “We were talking and meeting everyday for months before I realised we were basically dating without any of the benefits.”

“And?”

“And,” Zayn sighs, leaning against the counter. “Then I realised I wanted the benefits, and Liam looked like he wanted them too. So we did it.”

“Boring,” Louis complains.

There are plenty of things Zayn thinks of that could mollify Louis: how Liam had fumbled with asking for directions to the nearest restaurant during that weekend in France and how Zayn had realised, watching him, their arms tucked together, that he’s probably fallen in love with someone he’s known for years - that, for one, is a good story. But mollifying Louis has never been something he’s done, so Zayn just smiles at him.

Louis smiles back at him, shaking his head, like he already knows the conclusion of the story he didn't get to hear. He probably does.

His smartass friends and smartass family. _This_ is why he didn’t want to tell them.

-

The March band meeting is at Zayn’s, upon everyone else’s insistence. Niall arrives first, just as Zayn is taking a call. Zayn waves him into the kitchen.

“How are the Williams-es?” Liam asks as Zayn finally enters, putting the phone away.

“The fundraiser’s going well, I think they want me around every year,” Zayn says, sliding his arm around Liam’s waist as soon as he steps in beside him.

“Of course they do,” Liam says. Niall makes a gagging noise behind them, which Liam ignores as he leans in and nudges Zayn’s nose with his.

“You’ll be my date next month?” Zayn says.

“Of course I will,” Liam says.

The doorbell rings, and Niall coughs loudly as he leaves the kitchen to get to it. Zayn thinks he looks grateful.

Zayn grins, grateful, too, for the privacy, and closes the small remaining gap to Liam for a kiss. Pulling away, he reaches for the dip across the table, counting on Liam to keep him from falling over with the arm he’s left around his waist (he does).

“I think I wouldn’t mind doing more events like this,” he says.

To his credit, Liam looks only partly distracted by the finger Zayn dips into the bowl and licks clean. “Charities, you mean,” he prompts.

“Charities,” Zayn agrees. “Fundraisers. Maybe music benefits.” What had started as exchanging contacts with the Williams after Liam’s party quickly became full co-organisation for an education charity event in April. Zayn’s loved helping put everything together, getting the right people listening, finding the right beneficiaries. It’s felt like a lot like purpose.

Liam nods thoughtfully, careful as always as he thinks it through. “Suits you,” he says finally.

Zayn turns around and leans against the counter to smile at him. “You think?”

“And you’d love it.”

“I would.”

“I think you should do it,” Liam says. “You can invite yourself to a few of Harry’s parties, get some contacts.”

It’s something he’s been thinking about a lot lately, but it’s only been thinking - nowhere near taking the next step. With Liam, though, it feels like it’s solidifying, finding foundation. “I can find people to do this with,” he says. “I’ve met people interested in doing work where they can.”

“Right. And you can use me for my fame,” Liam says, grinning at him.

Zayn laughs. “Publicity!”

The front door is slamming shut again, two rooms away, and Zayn tugs at Liam so they start walking out of the kitchen.

“Put a pin in it?” Zayn suggests, grabbing the bowl. Even if he shies away from it again he knows Liam will pull him right back to it.

Liam shrugs and kisses Zayn on the cheek, and picks up the chips and fruits with his free hand.

-

Niall and Louis are arguing as they enter the living room.

“You’ll find,” Niall is saying loudly, “that Liam is neither new _nor_ a girl, so on both counts - “

“ - you fucking _cheat_ \- “

Harry is sitting on the couch, feet on the table, watching with the interest of someone who’s looked around and found nothing better to do. He looks up when he sees Zayn and Liam and smiles, face brightening. 

“I’ve been told that I’m the only one here who hasn’t seen you kiss yet,” Harry says.

As they sit down, Liam presses his hand against the back of Zayn’s neck and rubs it a little, pressing into a spot Zayn hadn’t realised was stiff. He leans back into it with a low hum of satisfaction.

“You almost saw us in December, at the holiday party,” Liam tells Harry.

Harry furrows his eyebrows in thought. “When he was tying your tie?” At Liam’s nod he cries, indignantly, “Well do it again now then!”

“It has to be organic, Harry,” Zayn says, patiently needling. Their eyes meet and they stick their tongues out at each other at the same time.

“So that’s everyone,” Liam says.

“What about long term?” Louis asks from where he’s finally stopped kicking at Niall’s feet. “Are you going public?”

“Yes,” Zayn and Liam say emphatically, no hesitation at all.

“I was thinking,” Liam says, “Zayn could have a featuring track on my next album. Some kind of love song.”

 _Love_ , Zayn thinks, getting it immediately. He looks over at Liam, grinning. “That would work.”

“Yeah?” Liam’s eyes are bright. “In a couple of years we can just start going around wearing matching wedding rings.”

His heart starts to beat a little faster, the idea of it burning. “Yes,” Zayn says, his voice dropping as he shifts closer. 

Liam moves, too, so he’s pressed against his side, and Zayn leans in, forgetting they have an audience until Louis makes a noise of exasperation. Zayn jumps back out of habit. Liam doesn’t move.

Harry boos.

Zayn glances around, where his friends are somehow both half interested and half, thankfully, past the point of caring anymore. Louis is making exactly the face he used to make whenever they accidentally ignored him years ago. Niall is digging through the fruit basket, tossing an orange at Harry, who only looks away from them to make sure he catches the fruit.

He looks back at Liam, who’s watching him, ready for anything, for whatever Zayn chooses to do, now or next month or next year.

Zayn smiles, finally feeling ready too, and pulls him in for a kiss.


End file.
